


A Twisted Chiaroscuro

by AdmirableMonster (Mertiya)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cousin Incest, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Laws and Customs Among the Eldar Compliant, M/M, Mags has a hero kink, Mags is an idiot, Mutual Non-Con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public Sex, So is Finrod, Soul Bond, This was just going to be sad smut but now it's grown a whole-ass plot, feat Sauron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:48:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28409493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/AdmirableMonster
Summary: Maglor finds out that Finrod is about to head off on a highly dangerous quest for a Silmaril and decides he won't let him go without his husband.  Even if Finrod doesn't know they're still married.Things take a turn for the worse when Sauron captures them and recognizes Maglor.
Relationships: Finrod Felagund | Findaráto/Maglor | Makalaurë, Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë
Comments: 33
Kudos: 45





	1. make no mistake the day will come

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to daphnerunning for being an enabler in general
> 
> art by Zomburai!
> 
> please be aware this thing gets REALLY dark, thanks Sauron. this is the nastiest Sauron I've written in my life
> 
> chapter titles from "missing you" by All Time Low

_Years of the Trees, Valinor._

The forge was hot, almost sweltering.Findaráto wiped sweat from his forehead as he slipped inside and paused, lingering for a moment unseen, to inspect the unusual sight of Makalaurë’s bare shoulders beneath a leather smith’s apron.Unwise, perhaps, but very flattering, and he was certain that Makalaurë would never sacrifice spectacle for safety, so it was probably intentional.

“Well, I came as your note bid me,” laughed Findaráto.“I confess, Káno, I did not expect to find you pottering away in the forge.”

“All of Fëanáro’s sons must display a modicum of skill, though mine are poor in comparison to my father’s or Curvo’s,” Makalaurë told him.“Thank you for answering my summons.”

“Anything for my favorite cousin.”

Makalaurë’s mouth twitched a little wryly at that.“Oh, am I?I am glad to hear it.”He drew a piece of thin metal from the forge and carried it over to the vise, glowing with heat.

“What are you making?”

“Just a minute, I need to concentrate.You arrived earlier than I expected.”

“My apologies,” Findaráto laughed, but leaned against the wall and watched him work.He set the metal into the vise and twisted it, carefully, his motions a little more deliberate than expert.Then he brought it out and laid it by a mirror twin he had clearly already made and pressed the two together, his eyes darting to a set of neat notes every-so-often, and occasionally back to Findaráto.He worked quietly, a small frown hovering between his eyes, and it struck Findaráto suddenly how much he enjoyed watching Makalaurë’s swift hands turn to a task.The way they twisted and braided the metal made him imagine them twisting and braiding his hair, and _that_ made him swallow hard and look away.

Makalaurë welded the two twists together with careful strokes and then welded them to a second pair of twists he had clearly already made.Then he heated them and bent them sideways into an almost-round shape, looking at the final result critically.“It will do, I suppose,” he said.“I would like to have set some jewels into the base, but I am afraid my skill would not stretch so far.”

“What is it?” Findaráto asked curiously, and, to his surprise, Makalaurë’s cheeks warmed beneath his gaze.

“It is a torc,” he said, picking it up and holding it out to Findaráto.“Would you try it on for me?”

“Me?”Confused but not unwilling, Findaráto took the still-warm metal from his cousin’s hand and slipped it about his throat.It fit perfectly—too perfectly—as if it had been made with his neck in mind.Looking up again, seeing the way Makalaurë’s eyes flickered, he realized that perhaps it had.

“It is—a small trifle,” Makalaurë said.“A song would be more in line with my actual talents, but—” he licked his lips.“One cannot make a token out of music,” he said, with an effort.

“Káno—do you mean—”

“Appearances to the contrary, I am not such a romantic at heart as my older brother,” Makalaurë said, with a faint smile.“Ours is not a love story to be sung to the rooftops, nor would I want it to be, for I have a healthy concern for the disapproval of my elders and, I like to think, an ability for subtlety that—that—” He broke off, making it truly obvious he was doing nothing more than babbling out of nervousness.

Findaráto took his hands and pulled him closer.“A love story?” he repeated softly.

“If—if you wanted,” Makalaurë managed.

Findaráto tucked a stray curl behind his cousin’s ear and let his fingers linger.“As long as I live, I will never take it off, _arimelda maiwë_.”

He got an indignant glare.“You style me a _gull_?”

The indignation ceased rapidly when Findaráto swiped his thumb across Makalaurë’s plush lower lip.“It is hardly my fault if thy favorite tunes make thee wail and mewl like a sea-gull at dawn.”

Something flashed in Makalaurë’s dark eyes.“Wouldst thou see me wail and mewl in truth, Ingo?”

He swallowed.“ _Please_.”

* * *

_F.A. 465, Himring._

Maedhros stared at the piece of paper, the letters upon it smudged by the melting snow so that half of it was now unreadable.It didn’t matter.He’d memorized what it said as soon as he’d seen it, as soon as the terrified messenger had brought it to him, looking at him as if he might kill them when he opened it.Well.Perhaps—perhaps that was unsurprising.There was a—a _thing_ roaring inside his skull.Fingon could have tamed it, but Fingon was not here.He was the High King now, which was, in the end, Maedhros’s fault.

The only other person who could have tamed it was not here either.

Maedhros stared at the piece of paper again, reading _brother_ and _death_ and _Nargothrond aflame_.As he stared, the ink of _brother_ began to bleed and run as well.

* * *

_Four days later, Nargothrond._

Maedhros paced back and forth in helpless fury.There were fires without, and he must find a way to take his brothers into custody, but he knew from long experience that it would not be an easy task.Curufin was clever, and Celegorm’s blood sang with the hunt, and neither of them had ever showed the slightest inclination to handle grief in a manner that did not destroy all it touched, an uncontained wildfire of directionless emotion that burned and burned and _burned_.

Maedhros burned, too, but he had no time for it.He needed Fingon.He needed Maglor.Fingon could not reach here so swiftly and Maglor—

There was a disturbance outside.Maedhros started towards the entrance, but before he could move further, the tent flap was pulled back, and, impossibly, his brother staggered in.He wore nothing but a blood-stained robe, and his once waist-length black hair was cut raggedly and close to his skull.

Maedhros reached for him.Maglor laughed roughly. When he spoke, his voice was a terrible rasp.“It is not true penance, brother,” he managed, “but perhaps it will do.I was left the hand, as you see—”He was cradling his right hand in his left; even from here, Maedhros could see there was something dreadfully wrong with the way the fingers were bent, “but not the husband.”

“Káno—Káno—you live.How—?”

“How else?” Maglor let his brother embrace him and hold him close.“I was rescued from the jaws of death by one who holds me dear, the more fool him.”He sobbed, burying his face in Maedhros’s shirt front.“Oh, Nelyo—he is _dead_ , the light of my life, and he died _saving me_ —”

“Who?” Maedhros could not understand any of this.Maglor was not married; Maglor had never been married.

“Finrod,” Maglor sobbed.“Findaráto.My Ingo.”

“I do not understand.”He lifted Maglor into his arms.“I would not ask this of you, but Celegorm and Curufin have—done some very terrible things.What happened?”

“I will tell you, retelling it will not be more painful than watching it behind my eyes if I tried to sleep,” Maglor said dully, leaning his head against Maedhros’s shoulder.

“I was visiting Finrod at his court.I was concerned that Celegorm and Curufin were—” he laughed harshly, “—going to do something stupid, which apparently I have entirely failed to prevent.And he had been having nightmares—of an Oath—and I was afraid—”

“And you knew because of the marriage bond,” Maedhros said bluntly.Maglor nodded, a tired little nod.“How long, Káno?”

His brother’s eyes welled up.“Since after you and Finno, but before you and Finno _knew_.”

“You little fool,” Maedhros told him heavily.“And you never _told_ me?”

“No.”Maglor swiped at his eyes.“How could I?It is not as if you have a moral advantage of me in secret marriages; you were simply ever less subtle.”

“After Losgar—”

“After Losgar, _I_ thought my husband would remain in Valinor, in safety, and I would never see him again!Yours, well, I understand your choices, Nelyo, Finno has always been one for stupid bravery.”

“Oh, and Ingo hasn’t?” Maedhros asked him, ruthless, rough, then, seeing how his face emptied out with blank horror, “oh, Káno, I am _sorry_ , I should not have spoken so.”

Maglor shook his head.“No matter,” he murmured.“I went to him.I found him well.And then a human came, a human named Beren…”

* * *

The last time Findaráto had seen Makalaurë, it was under the stars.His seagull was silent, though Findaráto knew what had transpired at Formenos.Maitimo had told them, when the ragged host of the Sons of Fëanáro met their father, covered in blood and tears.Makalaurë and Findaráto had been nothing but discreet for years, Amarië the only one who knew their secret, for they kept one of hers in turn.It had always been Káno who insisted upon it— _too much trouble to manage my father, and what does it change? It is no one’s business if we share a bedroom and a bed—_ and Káno who would show little physical affection before the others, in consequence.But now it was Káno who fell into Findaráto’s arms and pulled him away from the encampment.

“Tell me what happened,” Findaráto begged him, but Káno shook his head and shut his mind—all Findaráto could get was a hazy, terrified impression of vast footfalls and heavy breathing.Finrod blamed him for a long time—too long, perhaps—for the nightmares he had of Finwë’s death, because his mind had no truth to fall back upon, only speculation.All he knew was that their grandfather had fallen before Morgoth.But Makalaurë was trembling so badly as he began to pull at Findaráto’s clothing, at the woven metal torc he had given him as a wedding gift, barely yards away from where their families were in council that Findaráto could not deny him.

They kissed, their mouths moving against one another in silence.No words exchanged; no thoughts either, except for urgent pleas and desperate need.Findaráto kissed his husband’s pale throat, marking it with a ring of bites in a way he rarely did, but Makalaurë panted and made quiet noises and rutted against him as he did until he could barely think for the headiness of it.

There was no bed here, no bower.They did not even fully disrobe, for it was cold, a terrible chill that lay across the whole land along with the darkness.The stars were silent and distant; the shadows moved and danced.Findaráto had not known that shadows could move so.He had thought only of light and laughter, but now all was dark and silent.

His coupling with Makalaurë was unlike any other they had ever had.He pushed his husband up against a tree and took him there, legs about Findaráto’s waist, his tunic hiked up.There was nothing but saliva to ease the way, but Makalaurë did not seem to mind or even care: if anything he fucked himself upon Findaráto’s cock even harder, a broken moan spilling from his lips.With fear in his eyes, he grabbed Findaráto’s free hand and pressed it across his mouth, and Findaráto cursed into his hair as he felt those lips moving against his hand, as he felt the soft vibrations of Makalaurë’s throat humming through his bones.

He came fast and hard, spilling deep inside Makalaurë, and his husband arched against him and gasped, still hard, so Findaráto let him down and then went to his knees before him and took him in his mouth.Makalaurë held himself still, quivering, as Findaráto coaxed and sucked him to completion and did not say, not even mind to mind, _We saw the darkness move to Formenos, and I did not even know if you lived._

When Maglor came to him in Nargothrond, he arrived at dusk, and the first stars of evening were shining when Finrod admitted him.

* * *

“A Man gives you a ring and you agree to go with him to reclaim a Silmaril?Are you mad?”

“And I suppose you know so little of oaths?” Finrod asked lightly, the firelight falling full on his golden hair.The firelight glittered on a touch of metal beneath his robe.Maglor had seen it before, had _wondered_ —but surely not.Finrod thought the bond broken.

“Celegorm and Curufin will fight you,” Maglor said levelly.“My friend, this is foolish.You would be abandoning your kingdom.”

“Perhaps it is my turn to do something foolish, then.”

Maglor studied him, his heart thrilling as it always did, hiding it effortlessly.“Then let me accompany you,” he said heavily.“My brothers cannot complain if a Fëanorion rides with you, for it is our business more than it is yours.”

“I am sure Celegorm and Curufin will find it in them to complain either way.”Finrod’s eyes glittered.“And friends we may be, Maglor, but you will forgive me if I say that I am not sure I believe you have Beren’s best interests at heart.”

It was a fair point, and Maglor pressed his lips together.“It is true that I have a certain vested interest in the recovery of a Silmaril,” he agreed.“But will you not believe that I also have a certain vested interest in keeping the King of Nargothrond safe and sound?”

Those quicksilver eyes went to Maglor’s face, and it was strange.He had thought that he would forget the way they had looked at him in Valinor.He had thought he would stop comparing it to the way they looked at them now.Instead, he had gotten very good at pretending he didn’t notice.He gave Finrod Maglor’s smile, the not-quite-earnest sardonic twist. 

“I suppose that is true,” Finrod acquiesced.“And—I do trust you to be more sensible and controlled than Celegorm and Curufin, I admit.”

“Shall I take that as a compliment?” Maglor laughed.“Well, it is better than the alternative.”

A wistful look appeared on Finrod’s face, and Maglor let his eyelashes drop to hide whatever he might give away if he didn’t.“Come with us, then, Maglor,” Finrod said with a sigh.“It is not in me to deny you.”

* * *

“I should never have gone,” Maglor whispered.“We were caught and brought before Sauron himself.”

Maedhros could only stare at him, struck dumb with mute horror at the thought of Káno—little Káno—

“He could not attain Finrod’s or Beren’s name or purpose, and if I had not been with them—if only I had not been with them—”

“Why?” Maedhros could not help but prod.

“He knew me,” Maglor said.“He knew me at once.”

And Maedhros knew how he had known.

Maglor laughed, a dry, bitter little laugh.“I had no idea I was so persistently present in your thoughts, dear brother.”

Maedhros shut his eyes.What remarkable practice he had with guilt.But this might be the worst of all.“Káno—”

“Don’t,” Maglor cut him off roughly.“Just.Let me.Just let me finish.”

“Yes,” Maedhros said roughly. _Sauron._ His throat was tight.He ran a hand across the poor stubble that was left on Maglor’s head.What had been done to him—what had been _done_ to him—his head was roaring as Maglor continued in a dull, distant voice.


	2. when you can't cover up what you've done

“Oh, you brought a Fëanorion.That’s adorable.”He tipped Maglor’s chin up.“It’s been a long time since I had one of those to play with.Tell me, Káno, will you scream as loudly as your brother?”

Maglor started to take in a deep breath, and Sauron struck him in the throat.He choked on pain, coughing and wheezing in horror.“Now, now, I don’t need a demonstration yet,” Sauron crooned.“Not until you’re safely gagged, little songbird.”

Finrod was shouting something, something that Maglor could not hear.Valar, what fools they had been, thinking that they could not afford to have Maglor’s voice recognized, when all the time, Sauron had known his _face_. _I’m sorry,_ he thought blankly, reaching instinctively for the first time in many long years for the comfort of the marriage bond.He felt it for a moment before he caught himself, felt a flash of Finrod’s _fear-anger-protection_ , like a brush of fingers on fingers before he slammed the door in panic.

Pain rose in Maglor’s throat.It was not the heroic, untouchable king he had felt, the one who so looked down upon the Fëanorions for their Oaths—despite his own, _you fool_ , Finrod—it was Findaráto.Findaráto’s golden joy, _his_ heroism, the fear he subsumed into an angry joyful song.When they were young, he had made Makalaurë brave, just as Findekáno made Maitimo brave.

_Oh no,_ Maglor thought sickly. _What have I done to you, naltanya?_

Sauron laughed, a low, unpleasant chuckle that went on and on.“Thou art as lovely as thy brother,” he whispered in Maglor’s ear.“I have regretted for a long time that I did not sample all he had to offer when I had the opportunity.I will not make that mistake again.”He ran a hand with too many fingers down Maglor’s inner thigh, grinning at him with flame-red eyes.

Maglor spat at him, but Sauron only laughed again.“Eager to use thy mouth, Káno?”He caught Maglor’s chin in an iron grip, forcing his mouth open, then pinched his tongue between two long, sharp nails.Maglor struggled against the Orcs holding him, but it was no good; he only succeeded in scratching his tongue.“We’ll see what use he is,” Sauron continued in a low voice that only Maglor could hear.“Take the others to the dungeons.Gag the songbird and have him brought to my chambers.”He smirked.“I’m going to enjoy this.”

* * *

One moment, the darkness was quiet and tense.It hummed in Makalaurë’s bones.It was the moment before the lights went up upon the stage, the instruments tuned, and the bard stood in the wings and waited.Maitimo, beside him, was breathing in short puffs of white in the frosty night air, and Fëanáro was arguing with someone loudly.Almost normal, if not for that violin-string-tension pervading everything.

The clash of steel on steel broke the night open and raised the curtain on a drama Makalaurë could not understand.He had no weapon, even; he realized at this moment that he had left his sword lying in a clearing halfway to Formenos, when he had taken a risk that before his grandfather’s death would have been the greatest of his life.

“What’s happening?” he demanded, turning to Maitimo, but Maitimo was not there.The night was a blur of moving shapes.The chilly night air turned warm in blasts and gusts as fires sprang up along the docks.Makalaurë stared in horror at the shapes of Elf fighting Elf. _What are you doing_? he wanted to scream, but for once in his life, he was voiceless.Where was Maitimo?Where was Findaráto?

Not here, he reminded himself; his father’s host had ridden swiftly. 

Someone screamed in pain, and he flinched, reaching along the marriage bond for aid.He felt Ingo respond, concern and love reaching him in equal measure. _Courage, maiwënya_.Ingo did not know what was happening, but then Makalaurë was not certain he did either.

He needed to find Maitimo.He slipped from one knot of fighting Elves to another, humming to himself to keep his courage up, feeling Ingo’s worried mental hand steadying him at the small of his back.

It was not Maitimo he found in the end, but Fëanáro, his long lean body soaked in the gold-red of the growing greedy fires, his sword spattered with a darkness that Makalaurë’s distracted brain could only parse as bites that some strange creature had taken out of it.He was fighting three Teleri, and he was laughing and fey in a way Makalaurë had never seen his strict and brilliant father.

A fourth combatant appeared from the dark behind them as Makalaurë watched.It was clear his father did not see her.She raised her spear and Makalaurë reached for his sword, but he still did not have it.He opened his mouth to cry warning, and his chest burned.It was not _look out_ that he cried but _STOP_ , and the reverberations of his voice pained his own ears and throat.

When he had been much younger, nowhere near full-grown, he had grown frustrated with Maitimo.He could not remember why—perhaps his older brother had been teasing him, or perhaps he had not been paying enough attention, but Makalaurë had sung loud and high, and the glass that Maitimo had been holding had shivered itself apart in Maitimo’s hand, painting it red with blood where the flying glass had struck him.“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_ ,” Makalaurë had babbled, and he recalled it now, with perfect clarity, as the warrior who had been about to strike his father staggered, staring, dark fluid trickling from her nose and mouth.

She fell.She lay on the sand like a motionless doll.Makalaurë had done that, somehow.He had made her fall.He had made her—

“My thanks, Makalaurë,” Fëanáro told him tersely.“Get thyself a sword, there is no one to protect thee here.”

Revulsion welled in Makalaurë’s head, washing through him.He did not know if it was his own or Ingo’s, but he had no time for it.He must find Maitimo.He must protect his brothers.He could not lose more family.

He could not—he would not—

The pain of the memory was so great that Maglor was almost grateful when he opened his eyes and found himself in the heart-beat-long pause between whip strokes.

* * *

Finrod put a hand to his throat and felt across the woven metal, warmed by the heat of his body.Even now he still wore it.Foolish, he knew.Maglor had crafted it many years ago as an engagement present, and Finrod had never quite managed to take it off.It was a cleverly made trinket—all of Fëanor’s sons knew how to work metal—though not so clever as Curufin might have made.But Maglor had not been his since the ships had burned.And yet—Finrod had not given up wearing it.

They had not been tortured.They had been fed little, and that poor—moldy bread and a little stale water—and they had been chained up in the dungeons with the other poor souls, but they had not been tortured.Finrod was glad that Beren had escaped torment, but the lack of attention from Sauron made him feel a sick terror whenever he thought of it, because Maglor was not here with them.Maglor, whose brother Sauron had held in Angband.Finrod still remembered Maedhros’s eyes when they had first opened after Fingon brought him back, empty and dark, as if all light had fled.Finrod’s heart fluttered with sheer panic at the thought of the same dead emptiness in his h—in Maglor’s eyes.No matter that they were no longer bonded.No matter how the Fëanorions had betrayed them.No one deserved that.Maedhros had not deserved it, and Maglor did not deserve it either.

Finrod did not know how much time had passed when they were taken from the dungeons and brought before the Necromancer in his dark throne room.Sauron lounged upon a chair of gilded metal, an impossibly beautiful creation of filigreed gold blooming into jeweled roses surrounded by thorns whose tips were stained dark.At his side knelt a figure that Finrod did not recognize until Maglor raised his head to look at him.

His _hair_ —Finrod should not have felt such a pang of loss and pain over that of all things.Maglor’s hair had been shorn—perhaps even shaved and starting to regrow, for he had no sense of how long it had been—and he was left only a ragged set of dark, uneven curls.His hair had been waist-length for as long as Finrod could remember, sleek and black and beautiful.Finrod had sunk his hands into that hair, had used it to maneuver him around as Makalaurë teased and swore and begged him.He had seen his own gold hair mingling with those raven locks, like light mingling with shadow, as his body and Makalaurë’s mingled too.Gone, now—like their bond.Like their love.

Despite all that lay between them, Finrod could not help but reach out.The dead bond seemed, impossibly, to stir.Maglor’s dark eyes flicked to his face and despite the bruises showing on his pale cheeks, he shook his head, ever so slightly.

Sauron, as radiantly fair as ever, lay a hand on Maglor’s head, and it was all Finrod could do not to cry out his name.“I know a great deal about the Eldar,” the Maia said, his voice soft, earnest, interested.“For one thing, I know that an Elf whose first experience with the more carnal endeavors is violation will die.”He petted Maglor’s head, twisted his fingers in the poor remains of Maglor’s hair and jerked it back.Maglor swallowed convulsively, his mouth working beneath the gag.Finrod heard a soft, desperate noise emerge from his own throat.

“And,” Sauron continued, “I have tested the matter and determined that this is not due to some mythical or magical construct of virginity, which I _have_ heard, at times, espoused, but due to the lack of protection of the _fëa_ in the absence of a bond.”He kited those long, clawed fingers down the back of Maglor’s neck, and Maglor shivered slightly.“So I have determined that Maglor Fëanorion, despite all reports to the contrary, _is_ bonded.”He chuckled in amusement.

_No_.No, it was dissolved, it had been dissolved, at Losgar—Maglor had _written_ to him, and he had not _felt_ it since, it wasn’t _possible_ —

He reached out despite that, and despite the impossibility, he felt him. _Makalaurë._ For the first time, those black eyes blanched with true, deep terror.

_Ingo.Stop._

_You told me—_

_I did not think you would brave the Ice!_

They stared at one another. Finrod watched Maglor’s chest rise and fall rapidly.At the least, this—Sauron could _not_ know.But the widening, predatory smile on his face suggested that it might not matter.“So,” crooned the Necromancer.“I find it intriguing that a Fëanorion, a Man, and another Elf have come.I think further research is required.”He stroked Maglor’s hair.Finrod felt sick.“Well!” Sauron clapped his hands together.“Let us see!I would not be so selfish as to sample such delights without offering a chance to share.”

He forced Maglor forward and used one clawed hand to tear his robe open in the back.There were bloody weals upon it, dark stripes on Maglor’s pale skin.

_Káno_ , Finrod groaned.

_It’s nothing._

_You call this—_

_In the face of what my brother endured?Yes._

“I will if I must, of course,” Sauron sighed, walking around Maglor, who tried, largely unsuccessfully, to cover himself.“But I am not averse to observing his coupling with another.”He looked over at Finrod and Beren with a sly smile and burning eyes.“That is, if any are willing.”

_Don’t do it,_ Maglor’s voice snarled in his head. _I would rather be raped again than put you in dang—_

“I will do it,” Finrod said quietly, without looking at him.

_Findaráto!_

_And I will not watch him rape thee again, art thou mad?_

_Stop being such a noble idiot!_

_I’m not the one trying to fuck Sauron instead of my husband!_ They glared at each other, and it was— _awful_ —how much of Makalaurë there still was.How much had Finrod fooled himself, _let_ Maglor fool him, into thinking that the Oath, that the Kinslaying, could have changed his cousin so?No—of course not.It had only twisted him up inside and made him push Finrod away, at a time when Maglor must have needed him more than ever.

Sauron snapped his fingers, and two of the Orcs hurried forward to pull away the last of Maglor’s ragged clothing, pick him up, and fling him down in front of Finrod.Maglor gave a soft, pained cry as his knees and elbow hit the hard stone floor.

Another Orc cut through the bindings about Finrod’s wrists and shoved him forward.He half fell beside Maglor and picked himself up, not certain where to start, his chest tight, his eyes hot.He reached out a hand and stroked it across Maglor’s shivering back, ignoring the jeers and taunts flung at him by the Orcs, ignoring Sauron’s amused chuckle, ignoring Beren’s agonized attempts to look away.

_Don’t!_ Maglor’s voice echoed in his head, wretched with misery.Finrod scooted forward and carefully gathered him into his arms.

_I don’t think we have a choice, arimelda maiwë._

_Don’t be gentle about it!And don’t call me that, as if—as if—_

Finrod wanted to obey him, wanted to give Maglor—his _husband_ —whatever he needed to get through this, but he was sick with longing and a shuddering frustrated anger at himself _and_ his beloved.He pressed his head into the back of Maglor’s neck, breathing in his scent, feeling the muscles of him trembling badly and wanting desperately to have this conversation anywhere but here.

_As if what?_ he snapped. _As if we are wed?_

Maglor went still, went silent, went hollow. _Please_ , he said tiredly. _Just—do what you must._

“I hope you are planning to begin soon,” Sauron’s silken voice cut through the tension.“Because if you do not, I might be forced to intercede.”

And if Finrod did nothing, he was certain Maglor would not, because Maglor had already professed that he would rather—which meant that if Finrod—Valar, Sauron could not have devised a crueler game.But he would not have stood aside and watched Sauron rape Maglor Fëanorion without interceding—to watch Sauron rape Makalaurë?His Káno?

There were tears on Finrod’s cheeks as he forced himself to rut against Maglor’s thigh.Maglor sighed and reached back to take him in hand, and the touch of those clever fingers was easily enough to cause him to harden, despite the many eyes upon them.Finrod urged him forward, trying to get him onto his hands and knees, in the hopes it would hurt less.Maglor went down willingly, putting his elbows on the floor.He crossed his left arm in front and put his face upon it.Finrod went to put his own fingers in his mouth, thinking that at least some saliva would be better than nothing.

_Don’t bother,_ Maglor told him wearily. 

_Káno, please, I cannot—_

_I am not being a martyr,_ Maglor cut in. _I am just already—_

Finrod didn’t know if the wave of nausea he felt was his own or Maglor’s.The blinding hot fury behind his eyes was certainly his own.Maglor was cold and distant, viewing the world from behind a white glass wall.

Trying very hard to picture their bedroom back in Valinor, Finrod put a hand on Maglor’s stomach, shut his eyes, and pushed into him.He was open and slick, as he’d said, and Finrod kissed the back of his neck, trying not to cry.

_He’ll like it if you do,_ Maglor pointed out.

_I don’t want to give him the satisfaction._

The laugh that bubbled through the connection was brittle, like shards of glass in Finrod’s mind. _I already have.Your reputation is secure._

_Stop it, Káno_.

He was hot and tight around Finrod, and Finrod’s body responded as it always had before.His _fëa_ reached for Maglor’s, and he felt Maglor’s respond, felt the panic and terror he had been successfully suppressing to react in the way he chose to Sauron’s attentions boiling to the surface at the touch of his husband’s _fëa_ , so long denied. 

_Ingo_ , Maglor begged. _I can’t.Not now.We can’t._

“So silent,” Sauron’s voice mocked.“Anyone would think you are not enjoying this.Shall I have my Orcs aid you?”

_This again.He’s becoming repetitive._

_What did he—_

Finrod flinched and bit down on Maglor’s shoulder at the image of Maglor’s mouth moaning Sauron’s name through the gag, one distant corner of his mind kept safe, free, far away.

_Better_ , Maglor told him, but he was fighting so hard to keep his terror contained now that when he moaned and whined for Sauron’s pleasure, the tears that Finrod knew were standing out on his cheeks were real.Finrod, not willing to let him bear the entire burden, added his own sobs and cries, trying to drown out Maglor’s, trying to cover him and shield him with his body as he thrust.

“ _Ahhh—_ you—you feel so—” _Valinor,_ he told himself. _Valinor, Valinor._ Shutting his eyes.

_Careful, you fool—_

“ _Káno_ —”

There was an awful silence.Maglor sobbed, and Finrod knew it was fury mixed with fear. 

_Stop trying to protect me!_ Finrod told him, still thrusting, still moaning, trying to pretend it hadn’t been a slip of the tongue.Sauron’s footsteps were loud on the hard floor.The next moment, his long-fingered hand landed in Finrod’s hair.

The blind terror that surged through the bond at the touch was beyond anything Finrod thought he had ever felt from Maglor.He couldn’t—he _couldn’t_ —Finrod was the only good thing left in the world, the only thing _untouched, unsullied_ , he could not _lose that_ , even if he had lost _him_ long ago—his light, his love, his _heart—_

It was almost too much for Finrod.He was dizzy with his body’s lust and the feel of Maglor around him for the first time in centuries, and the feel of Maglor’s desperate, surging love and concern nearly drew his climax from him without his consent.He reached out blindly for support, stroking his hand down Maglor’s taut shoulders and arm, and—

—and Maglor _screamed_ , high and uncontrolled, the raw wild sound of an animal in the last extremities of pain.Finrod felt the echo of it through the bond, even though somehow Maglor was clamping down, keeping most of it out, as he had tamped down on the bond for these past few centuries.

“Oh dear,” laughed Sauron.“I wouldn’t touch his hand if I were you, Finwëan.”

“What did he do to you, _melindo_?” fell out of Finrod’s mouth in the blank silence that followed, reeling with the pain and terror, before he could stop himself.

_Ingo!What have you done?_ Maglor’s voice, screaming, reverberating through his head.

“I wanted to hear how Maitimo’s sweet little songbird brother would sound in pain,” Sauron’s delighted voice said.“So I broke his fingers, one at a time.”Claws dug into Finrod’s back, and he hissed in pain.“I did not expect it to bear _such_ fruit, however.”His voice was filled with an eager lust, and Finrod instinctively tried to cover Maglor with his body.“So.Finrod Felagund?Bonded to Maglor Fëanorion.Ai, a love story to rival that of his cousins.”

Maglor, still wracked with pain, flinched in response, and Finrod felt the despair that welled up inside him.

“Well,” Sauron crooned, pressing his too-large hand against Finrod’s naked back.“Don’t stop on my account, Felagund.”Finrod’s breathing sobbed in his throat as he forced himself to continue thrusting despite the resistance of Maglor’s pain-ridden _hröa_. 

“Such love.”Sauron sighed dramatically, sinking the claws deep into Finrod’s back.He gasped and groaned.“It almost makes up for never getting these on Maitimo’s darling, valiant Findekáno.But in honor of your love, I will give you a chance.”His hot breath scalded Finrod’s ear.“The one who climaxes first will live.”He laughed delightedly. 

Finrod shut his eyes.It was very possible that Sauron would fail to honorhis side of such a bargain, but it was, at least, a _chance._ He caught Maglor’s simultaneous thought, and grabbed his wrist before he could slam his injured hand into the ground.

_Ingo, don’t you dare—_

_Hush, maiwë._

_No!_ Maglor gasped and rolled his hips back, clenching around Finrod and making him groan and shudder. _No, please, please—_

He was too tired and too injured to fight against Finrod pinning him down, and Finrod was able to slip another hand around and take him in hand.Maglor was sobbing, biting his lip until it bled.“Shhhh, shhhh,” he murmured in Maglor’s ear, letting his own golden memories of Valinor rise in his mind.

Sauron’s laughter was distant, but Finrod could still hear the words, echoing distantly, no matter how he tried to block them out, “How does it feel, Káno?Pinned down and raped by your own husband?”

_Please._ The bond opened fully for the first time in half an Age as Maglor, in his desperation, ripped it open in an attempt to overwhelm Finrod with his own arousal. _Please, I can’t lose you like this—_

Finrod laughed through his own tears. _What makes you think I can lose you right after I got you back?_ He stroked Maglor’s cock tenderly, moving inside him at what he knew was just the right angle. _I’m sorry, arimelda maiwë.I am so sorry._

_Please,_ Maglor wept, and they were true tears, though Finrod knew he was using them, his last, desperate attempt to get Finrod to stop kissing the back of his neck tenderly and stroking him relentlessly.

“What beautiful tears,” murmured Sauron.“Perfection.Thou may have replaced thy brother in my affections.”The Orcs shouted and laughed in the background.Beren was shouting something, futile, his words blurring in Finrod’s ears.

Maglor was making muffled noises through the gag, something between a scream and a moan.It wasn’t fair, Finrod knew; if he were ungagged, Finrod would not be winning this contest.Of course, if he were ungagged, Sauron might not be either. _Hush,_ Finrod told him. _Do you remember the day we wed?It was during the mixing of the treelight.We were in my room, and there was no one to see us.We sang together for an hour before I took you on the window-seat because you refused to come to bed.The light of the trees was in your hair and your eyes, and you begged me and I tickled you and we were both laughing through our vows._

This, Sauron could never touch.

_You have no idea,_ Maglor whispered miserably. _Ingo, you have no idea, he will have it wrenched from my head within a week, he will destroy it just as he has destroyed every fair thing he was able to touch._

_No,_ Finrod told him. _He has not.He has not destroyed Maitimo, and he will not destroy thee, Káno_.

_Oh, thou art such a fool, and I a fool to love thee!_ Maglor sobbed. Finrod felt him stiffen, his cock pulsing in Finrod’s hand.He pulled his own face to the forefront of Maglor’s mind, limned with light and smiling.For an instant, he felt Maglor’s love surging back—for an instant, they were safe and alone in their own little world, silver and gold and full of a sweet duet they had sung together, once, long ago—

And then he screamed as Sauron’s claws sank into his back.“It seems we have a winner.Many thanks for your efforts, Felagund the Fair—I _am_ glad I will not have to give up my songbird.”He dragged Finrod out of Maglor and flung him to the ground; Maglor struggled to stand up, but the Orcs moved in to hold him.He was screaming something from behind the gag.

The grin on Sauron’s face was too wide, like a gash right across a fair mask, splitting it in two.“Take him to the wolves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "naltanya" = "my light"  
> "maiwënya" = "my seagull"


	3. it's my life, i'm gonna take it back

Maglor lay in darkness.There was pain in his throat and in his head.He heard a voice calling his name, but he could not tell whose it was.There was snarling in his head and pain in his shoulder.Pain deeper.Pain in his throat.He tried to sing, but there was something in his mouth, and he could not.He could hear snarling and feel pain—the pain of rending teeth and claws, the pain of failure, the pain of loss cutting deep into his soul—

He thought of the gold of Valinor and wondered if he had ever belonged there.It seemed like a distant dream now, and not a true one.But Finrod’s lips on his had been true.Finrod’s gentle hands sliding through his hair, and Finrod’s golden voice whispering endearments into his ear.That voice, mocking and sharp, sending a delicious thrill through him.He remembered the first time they had had an argument—about something completely inconsequential, culminating in Finrod teasing him for singing only dirges and melancholy (“Thou hast brought thy audience to tears, Makalaurë, but only because they cannot stand thy whining!”).And he had returned home with his brothers and shut himself into his room and pleasured himself to the memory of that bright, stinging voice until he was screaming.

But now there was no light left.The Shadow had bled into his life and ruined it all. _To evil end shall all things turn…_ He wanted to rage against the unfairness of it, that the Doom of Mandos should leave him alive and not his bright, airy cousin—but anger would do nothing, so instead he drifted in darkness and then slept.

He woke to the sound of a song, rising sweet and poignant in the distance.Beside him, Beren’s hoarse voice called, “Lúthien!Ai, it is my love!”

Her song was a song of determination and ferocity, despite the aching pathos of it.Maglor could not hear the words, but he could feel the enchantment.It should have drawn determination from him as well, pouring strength into his chest and lungs and voice.It would have, if he were not lost and alone, with all light fled.With his light gone forever.

Maglor hummed in answer. _Why are all your songs laments, Káno?You whimper and cry like the gulls upon the shore._

Perhaps this was why.Perhaps he had always known how it would end.The hum rose in volume, high and ragged.Beside him, Beren cried out in pain.Maglor’s pain rose with his voice.It soared, even behind the gag, and he felt the shackles about his wrist warming as the lattice of them shivered in answer to his song.They grew hotter and hotter as he continued to hum, but the pain did not matter anymore; all that mattered was that the vibrations continued, faster and faster, until the metal ran molten from his wrists and hands, and he was able to use the left hand to pull the gag off.

Beren stared at him, his eyes wild in the half-darkness.“What are you doing?” he demanded.Maglor laughed, and inhaled, and _sang_.

He felt the bones of the fortress around him, and they were soaked with his husband’s _fëa_.There was darkness running through it, Sauron’s corruptive touch, and Maglor could not stand it.The sound emanating from his throat was wilder than any noise he had ever made before, a howl more than a note. It was this violation, more than any of the previous, that burned inside him.This was _his_ ; it was not Sauron’s, it was not Sauron’s—this was the last he had of his husband and he would rip out even the Lieutenant of Angband, even if it meant destroying himself in the process. 

The stones were rumbling around them.The stones were screaming.Sauron’s enchantments howled, and Maglor howled, and everything howled and screamed.

“Maglor!Maglor!”Beren’s voice.A stone slammed into the ground by Maglor’s shoulder.The walls of the fortress were shaking themselves apart.“ _Stop_!”

Stop what?Maglor’s head was ringing.He would die here, entombed with the bones of his husband.And the seagulls would cry—

Something struck him heavily in the side of the head, and Maglor knew nothing else for a long time.

* * *

“I remember little else,” Maglor concluded.“It was Beren who struck me, I think—I have some flashes of him helping me along, through the forest.In the woods.He brought me back here.Why—why are you here, Maedhros?”

“I’ll kill Sauron,” Maedhros said helplessly.“I’ll—”

“Why are you here?”

Maedhros ground his teeth.“Three days ago, I received a messenger bird from Lúthien.It spoke of your death and deeds committed by your younger brothers, and I hastened with as many as I could spare.I begged Thingol—on my knees—for passage through.I was not in time.”

“What have Celegorm and Curufin done?” Maglor asked dully.

“Set Nargothrond aflame,” Maedhros told him heavily.

“ _Set—why_?” Maedhros did not want to tell him, and he knew it showed in his face.“Do not hide this from me, Maedhros.”

“They were told of your death.”

They stared at one another.Maglor shook his head.“I must—I must—do something,” he rasped.“I—”

“You are in no condition—” Maedhros tried to protest, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough.And it would hardly be fair, in any case. “Fine.”

As Maglor moved towards the exit, the tent flap was thrown back, and Hemmoril strode inside.“My lord Maedhros—” she started, then stopped as she saw Maglor.“ _Maglor_.You’re alive.”She hurried over to him, pulling him forward and checking him over in a way Maedhros knew he would have accepted from precious few other folk. 

Maglor chuckled.“Unfortunately so.”

“Your _hand_ —”

“The bones were crushed,” Maglor agreed.“I’m afraid my harpist days are long gone.You will no longer have to suffer my compositional fits in the middle of the night.But, come, Hemmoril, we have little time, and I see on your face that something grave has occurred.What is it?”

“We have been trying to rescue the survivors and fend off—well—your brothers,” Hemmoril told them both.“But now we face a new danger.”

“A new danger?” Maedhros asked sharply.

“A tremendous wolf,” Hemmoril replied.“Attacking indiscriminately—probably one of the werewolves of Sauron.We are hard pressed to go against such a foe while protecting the folk of Nargothrond from your brothers.”

Maedhros grunted in frustration.He had no way to stop Maglor now, and it would be foolish, in any case.“Lead the way,” he said, putting a hand on Maglor’s shoulder.

Maglor flashed him a tired, grateful smile.

* * *

There were still flames licking away at the countryside, many of which had died away to embers inhabiting the charcoal skeletons of houses and cottages.Maglor felt sick even thinking about it.What had his brothers _done_?He was still unsteady on his feet, not quite certain what to do or where to start.It was fortunate that Maedhros was distracted with too much, or he might have noticed the blood matted in Maglor’s hair above the still-aching knot in his head.Beren had struck him quite hard before dragging him out of the collapsing fortress.

They had barely stepped outside when a wailing howl split the stillness of the night.In the silvery light of the moon and the red-gold of the licking flames, it was not hard to see the creature, silhouetted at the top of the hill, near the central keep.Light limned its coarse fur, and despite how exhausted he was, Maglor still felt a flicker of fear at the sight of those burning eyes.

“Celegorm is at least—” Hemmoril began, when the object of supposition himself burst from a spindly grove of trees at the top of the hill, his sword flashing in his hand as he went for the wolf’s throat.

“Tyelko, you damn fool!” Maedhros called uselessly.“I swear, I will kill him.Come on.”He began to run, and Maglor followed him wearily, intending to keep up the pace to the best of his ability.There would be plenty of time to deal with his grief and lack of desire to be alive later.

Celegorm landed a glancing blow on the wolf’s upper shoulder, and it reared back, then—far faster than a creature of its size should have been able to—batted his next attack out of the air with a paw as if parrying with a sword.The silver moonlight caught in something threaded in its fur near its neck.

The pattern outlined in silver light—why did it look so familiar?Maglor was following Maedhros up the hill as Celegorm circled the wolf warily, snarling with a feral noise.The bloodlust was clearly on their brother again, because of course nothing could ever be simple. _Valar_ , Maglor thought bitterly. _I should never have gone with them._

Maglor’s eyes were drawn back to that silver glint, to those clumsy curlicues, now stretched and warped, and in the same moment he recognized them and the bond snapped back home in his mind.He doubled over.

* * *

_I know it is not very skillful—I am no Curvo in the forge—but I wanted to make you something all the same._

_It is beautiful and as long as I live I will never take it off, arimelda maiwë._

* * *

_The metal torc is frigid against the flesh of his throat.He cannot feel Makalaurë.He can feel nothing but the frozen cold of the Grinding Ice stretching for miles in every direction.He should take it off, perhaps, but he cannot bear to.He runs his fingers along its edge, remembering happier times, remembering the touch of the skillful hands that forged it._

* * *

_His hand does not tremble as he reads the short missive.It is no surprise to him what it says, for he has not felt the marriage bond in years.It is polite, and it is the politeness, more than anything, that makes him want to rage and cry.That Makalaurë—Maglor, he reminds himself fiercely, Maglor Fëanorion, not Kanafinwë Makalaurë—should be polite to him, should use his words as caresses instead of stinging darts—that is how he knows the words are true.That is how he knows it is over._

_He reaches for his throat, but hears the echo of his own words in his head.‘As long as I live, I will never take it off.’He sags into a nearby chair and presses his face into his hands._

* * *

_Darkness.Darkness and pain.A high laugh that goes on and on.The taste of foul blood in his mouth._

_“Perhaps I shall keep you after all, sweeting.Perhaps I shall feed your songbird to you and watch the look on his face as his mate devours him alive.”_

* * *

Finrod’s rage and fear burned in Maglor’s chest.“No,” Maglor muttered.“No, no, no. _Nelyo_!” But his brother was too far to hear the cry, which came out weak and soft in the same lost rasp that was all he had been able to produce since he woke.With a sobbing gasp, Maglor began to run, headlong and heedless of the pain in his head, his throat, his hand.On the hill, Celegorm darted in and inflicted another shallow injury.

_“_ Tyelko, stop!Stop it!” Maglor wept, but his voice was nothing more than a reedy whisper.He passed Maedhros, somehow, impossibly—saw his brother’s eyes widening as he continued to run—and gained the top of the hill as the wolf lunged at Celegorm, powerful jaws snapping shut just inches away from his head.Celegorm leaped out of the way and caught his sword in both hands, raising it for a heavy overhanded strike.

It was a shame, Maglor thought, almost wryly, that he could not draw his own blade.But never mind.He flung himself between Celegorm and Finrod, hearing Maedhros’s warning cry ringing in his ears as he flung up his arms as a last measure of protection.

He was not sure if it was Maedhros’s shout, or if Celegorm’s instincts were sharper even than he’d realized—his younger brother did not manage to halt the stroke entirely but he did turn it aside enough that it did not actually cleave Maglor in two, but only struck a glancing blow that drew a line of fiery pain down the whole of Maglor’s right arm.

“S-Stop.Just, _stop_.”Maglor gasped, holding his left arm out as he kept himself between his brother and his husband.Celegorm stared at him, eyes burning with thwarted bloodlust, confusion writ large in his countenance. 

“Káno?” he breathed.“Káno, get out of the way, look _out_!”

“I’d rather die,” Maglor told him, somewhat distractedly, turning to face the wolf.Hackles raised, it snarled at him, froth dripping from its jaws.

“Ai, Ingo,” Maglor whispered, in the thread that was all that left of his most valuable attribute.“Look at the two of us.”He leaned against the heaving side, twisting his hands in the coarse fur.“Broken, both of us.I’m sorry I could not be Nelyo.”He sobbed.“I’m sorry I could not protect you.I’m sorry.”He went to his knees, pressing his face into the wolf’s chest.“I can’t let you hurt anyone else, you would never forgive yourself.”

He heard Maedhros shouting again in the distance.He wondered if he would die here, uselessly, trying to find something on the other side of the bond that wasn’t simple feral rage.He did not much care about the death, but the rest of it—oh, yes. 

“For all that lies between us, I am sorry,” he said, the thread of his voice muffled by the fur.“It seems every decision I have made since the Darkening did nothing but cause you pain, when all I wanted was for you, at least, to be safe.”

He felt the rage ebbing.The low, warning growl grew higher pitched, turning to something like a soft whine, and a cold nose poked inquiringly at his head.It brushed against the injury, and Maglor gasped with pain.

“Varda’s tits, _what_ is happening?” Celegorm’s voice demanded. 

“Put it _down_ ,” growled Maedhros, in his most commanding voice.

“I am not going to put down my weapon, when—”

“Thou hast done _enough_ damage!” Maedhros thundered.Loud, yet very far away.“Lay down thy arms before I strike thee down, brother!”

Maglor felt very distant, as if he were floating somewhere far away.“Please come back to me,” he rasped, finally.“I promise I will never lie to thee again, if only thou wilt return to me now.”

There was a long drawn-out silence.Celegorm and Maedhros were talking to one another in low, fierce, angry voices.Maglor felt in his mind the shape of the wolf silhouetted against the night sky, felt again—rather than saw—the shape dwindling, the rough fur replaced by scarred skin, and then he was being held tightly in a pair of too-familiar arms, and Finrod’s cracked voice was laughing through his tears, “The most transparent lie yet, _maiwënya_.But I never could resist thy sweet lies.”


	4. and never for a second blame yourself

Finrod groaned as the pain pulled him into wakefulness.It hurt more to waken in Elven shape, but at least when he did he was not immediately assailed by a nigh-overwhelming craving for raw meat.He was weak and wrung out, each and every nerve burning like a tiny nexus of pain.He did not know if it would ease, and he did not like it when he had to take the laudanum, which kept him asleep and would not let him escape from the nightmares into wakefulness.But when he complained, Maedhros and Maglor exchanged looks, and Maedhros said, _We will not force you, but you do not want to lose so much sleep that you have the nightmares in your waking hours._

It had shamed Finrod, rather, though he knew that had not been the intent.He still did not like the laudanum and felt safe taking it from Maglor, only. _Well,_ Maglor had said, _I am used to measuring it out,_ and Maedhros had given him a wan smile.

Morning light filtered in around the flap of the tent.A moment later, Maglor slipped into the tent.His hand was still in a cast, the bones of his fingers set carefully.Finrod could feel how they pained him, so he did not need to ask about them or force Maglor to think on it overmuch.He could and did often sneak a little of the pain away from Maglor, though—after all, if he was going to be in constant agony all the time, he might as well steal a little extra.

Maglor looked at Finrod.“It’s nice to find you upright,” he said, with a twist of a smile. 

It was hard for Finrod to know how to act around him.He was not the Maglor Fëanorion Finrod had thought him for so long, but he was no longer Makalaurë, either.Their bond was not an easy thing, anymore: it could be a source of succor, but it could also be a source of pain.Sharp blades littered both their minds, and it was all too easy to misstep.

Either Maglor did not know his thoughts, or he did not mind them, for he came to sit on the pallet beside Finrod.“We found Curufin,” he said, heavily.“Celegorm is—I think he is better.The last I saw of him, he was curled around Huan and crying into his coat.I have not seen him so unguarded in years.”The unspoken question still hung in the air, _What shall we do with them?_ but Finrod did not know.He was tired of bloodshed and violence, ill down to his bones.He would have to make a decision—banishment, perhaps?He did not have to decide this moment.He did not even know if the decision would fall to him, or to Orodreth.

He reached for Finrod and halted, his hand hovering uncertainly.Finrod closed the distance, clasping his hand.“What of Beren and Lúthien?”

A small smile.“Lúthien came to me—I do not know why, for I cannot imagine she is intimidated by Maedhros and that is all there is to recommend me over him—and asked if I could make him see sense, for he keeps trying to leave her behind and go off into the wilderness for, as he puts it, her own good.”

“To…retrieve the Silmaril?” Finrod asked carefully.

Maglor did not flinch but instead laid his head upon Finrod’s shoulder.“Do you know, I do not know?I did not ask.I simply…well…I told him to let her come with him.I told him that if he tried to deny his love for the purpose of keeping her safe, he would regret it for the rest of his life.”

“Ai, Káno.”

“I owe thee many apologies, I think.”

“Thou art not the only one.”Finrod pressed his face into Maglor’s neck, wanting to kiss him but fearful of the reaction after all he had been through.After what Finrod himself had done to his beloved.

“Do not fear,” Maglor murmured quietly.“Who among us could emerge blameless from that dark fortress?Nay, Ingo.”He stroked the back of Findaráto’s neck.“We are both hurt, but never— _never_ —would I flinch from thy touch.”

Carefully, tentatively, he guided their lips together.Finrod nibbled gently at his lower lip.The kiss deepened.After a moment, Maglor was starting to arch against him, and Finrod could feel them both hardening.Maglor leaned forward and murmured in his ear, “Wilt let me ride thee?I understand if not, I understand if it has been too poisoned, by me or by—”

“ _Káno_.”Finrod grabbed him and kissed him hard.“Do whatever thou wilt, I would not have him poison this.Just have a care of thy hand.”

“Oh, and thou wilt have to prepare me so carefully,” Maglor whispered, nibbling at his ear.“Perhaps not _too_ carefully,” he said, thoughtfully, after a moment.“It has been some time since my backside stung with the touch of thy hand.”He bit his lip, fluttered his eyelashes, and laid himself across Finrod’s lap, wincing slightly as he arranged his injured hand out of the way.

“But thy back—” Finrod objected.

Maglor smiled at him.“It is not my _back_ I would have thee touch,” he said pointedly.“And I have been such a great _frustration_ to thee, have I not?Dost not wish to _punish_ me, Ingo?”

“It is no surprise thy brother calls thee brat,” Finrod told him.“Very well,Káno, but thou must tell me if the pain is too much.”

He expected Maglor to protest or distract, but his husband just gave him a small, sincere smile.“I will.Promise.”He held out the pinky finger of his uninjured hand, and Finrod swallowed, remembering the day they had met as children.It had been just one summer, before Fëanáro took the rest of his family away again and they did not see one another for some years. 

“Will I see you again?” Makalaurë had asked, breathless, a little shy.They had sung duets together all summer long.

“Of course,” Findaráto had told him.“Promise.”He’d held out his pinky and they’d sworn solemnly upon their joined fingers.It hadn’t occurred to Finrod until now that that might have been why Makalaurë had chosen the entwined pattern for the torc.

Now, here, Finrod linked their fingers again and kissed Maglor on the top of his head.“Terribly frustrating,” he said, in a low voice.“So much thou hast kept from me, instead of just _telling_ me of it.In future, please learn to use thy tongue.”

“Oh, I will use my tongue for _thee_ ,” Maglor said, smokily, then yelped as Finrod swatted him—lightly, still a little concerned about paining him.But he felt Maglor’s cock twitch against his leg; he seemed to be doing fine.Findaráto worked his leggings down and off.

“All right?” he asked again, and Maglor wriggled impatiently. 

“Please, _naltanya_ ,” he begged.“Just hurt me a little.”His eyes were clear, open, only a little pained.“I feel your kindness so much more in contrast.And I need—I need—”Finrod drew in his breath. _I need it.I need to know you’re there,_ Maglor finished, mind to mind, the words made so much stronger for the swell of emotion behind them.

Finrod dropped a kiss on top of his head and struck him, hard enough that the sound of the slap was audible but lighter than he usually did.Maglor gasped, pressing his face into Finrod’s leg.“More,” he said.“You can—a little harder?If—”

There was cold moisture trickling down Finrod’s face, and he didn’t know why.He hit Maglor again, a little harder. 

Another gasp.“Yes—yes, like that—” Maglor moaned.“ _Ingo_ —please—”

Leaning forward, Finrod kissed the back of his neck softly as he continued to strike him.Maglor whined.“You’re—so good to me,” he murmured.“You’re so—”

“None of that,” Finrod told him, choking on his words.

“Hm?”

“ _Thou_ , _maiwënya_.”

“Ai, Ingo.Thou’rt so good to me.” 

Finrod hit him once more, feeling the echo of it inside himself.“That’s—that’s all I can—I’m sorry.”

“It’s enough,” Maglor told him simply, sitting up.“Of course it’s enough.”He kissed Finrod, long and lingering.“Touch me gently, love.H-Husband.”

His hair was still so short.Finrod combed his hand through what remained of it, and Maglor looked at him a little sadly.“I know how you loved to sink your hands into my hair,” he said, his voice shaking.

“The light of Telperion caught in it,” Finrod agreed.“But it will grow again, and this time I will see it grow.”He rubbed his hand across Maglor’s cheek, and Maglor moaned, rolling his hips against Finrod.It hurt, every touch brushing against clusters of nerves that were too sensitive, too painful, but he didn’t want it to stop.He knew Maglor felt the same; his sore buttocks was shifting against the cloth in Finrod’s lap.Too much cloth.They were wearing far too many clothes.

_Yes_ , Maglor agreed. _I need to touch you.And I’m about to lose my balance because my legs are all tangled in my leggings._

Finrod laughed at him, and Maglor laughed back, pressing his face into Finrod’s neck.“I forgot what it was like,” he said suddenly, and Finrod cupped the back of his head with his hand, holding him gently close.

“Forgot what what was like?”

Maglor took a deep, shuddering breath.“Laughing together?”

Finrod kissed him, and there was salt on his lips.“And now we get to remember, Káno.Now, off with thy clothes, I can’t have thee falling off my lap in the middle of our coupling.”

It drew another laugh from Maglor’s throat, as he’d intended, and he got up, hissing slightly, and then began to draw off his clothes, slowly and sensually, undulating a little as he let his robes slip from his shoulders.Finrod watched him, letting his eyes linger on the slim muscles, categorizing the new scars.As Maglor finished slipping his leggings off and stood before him, there were new shadows in his eyes, and he looked more naked than ever.Finrod realized he had never seen his husband in such a situation without him using his hair as an artful covering.Now he stood stripped and open, almost as if waiting for judgment.

Finrod held out a hand, and Maglor came to him with a glad cry and Finrod’s name on his lips.

He plucked Finrod’s clothes off him gently and settled into his lap, running his hands across Finrod’s chest and through his hair.It hurt.Finrod didn’t care.They kissed and kissed.Twisting Maglor’s nipples still made him shudder and cry out, made his cock leak against Finrod’s belly.Warm skin pressed to warm skin.Finrod touched questioningly at the bond, and Maglor opened to let him in there, too, so they were touching in every way they could be, _hröa_ and _fëa_ pressed together, almost mingling. 

“More?” Maglor murmured, almost as if afraid to ask.

“All I want,” Finrod replied, thrumming with the truth of it.Maglor pressed a vial of sweet-scented oil into his hand.Finrod used it to coat his fingers so he could open him up, almost unbearably slowly.Maglor pressed their foreheads together, panting, as if he were trying to drink Finrod’s breath.He was overstimulated and overwhelmed, but he didn’t protest.Instead, he murmured, “ _yes, yes, naltanya, yes, please, touch me, touch me, I need you,_ ” over and over again as he rocked on Finrod’s fingers.

There was no curtain of hair to hide them.There was nothing to hide them.There was only the two of them, still.When Maglor finally tugged Finrod’s fingers out to sink slowly down onto him, they were both silent, but their _fëar_ clung to each other, holding tightly, merging and intermingling like their bodies.

_Will I ever be thy hero again?I am a monster_.They did not know which of them thought that, and they clung together, kissing desperately, rolling their hips together with need and desire.It was not easy, but they wanted it.It was not painless, but they did it.It was not the same, but it was good.

Maglor sobbed as Finrod’s cock brushed against the spot of pleasure deep within him, and he kissed tears from Finrod’s face.Finrod clutched at his shoulders, because he could not clutch at his hair.When they came, finally, in a mix of pleasure and pain driving them past words and thought entire, it was together.It was nothing harsh, Finrod spilling within Maglor and Maglor atop Finrod; it was warm and sweet and easy.

The pain returned as they lay down together in a tangle of limbs.Maglor pulled Finrod’s face to his chest, keeping his injured hand out of the way, and they lay together.

“I know thee,” murmured Finrod.“I have always known thee.”He ran a light hand over Maglor’s back.“I will always know thee.”

“I—I—I will not run again,” Maglor said, in a shuddering tone of voice.“If I must protect thee—I will ask thee first.”

“And I will do the same, _arimelda maiwë_.Thou didst run—but thou didst return, also, and for that I am very grateful.”

They did not know what the future might hold.Both of them had always had glimpses of darkness, terror, sorrow, but nothing more than shards of a future that might or might not come to pass.For now—they were holding one another again.Maglor kissed Finrod’s forehead and began to hum, just a few sweet bars before his voice cracked and failed, but it was more than he had managed since his return.

They stared at one another, shock writing itself across Maglor’s countenance.“My voice,” he whispered.“It’s _healing_.”

Finrod kissed his throat and his mouth.“Of course it is,” he retorted.“How else shalt thou wake me at unpleasant hours of the morning with thy caterwauling?”

Maglor hit him with a pillow.They lay together, laughing and crying, as the day spun onwards.

**Author's Note:**

> "arimelda maiwë" = "dearest seagull"


End file.
